Are You Sure You Want to Do This?
by atlaswhite
Summary: ATWQ. A series of short stories and wrong questions in the lives of Lemony Snicket and his associates in the small and dying town of Stain'd-by-the-Sea. It might be better if you find a collection of happy stories about fuzzy kittens who ask the right questions to read instead. Various characters and pairings.
1. Where Did He Come From?

_Lemony Snicket and Moxie Mallahan - Where Did He Come From?_

Lemony sighed, his eyes downcast. Moxie knew he had been looking again, at her arm in its bandages. It was hard seeing him like that, all downtrodden and defeated as if he had already lost the war.

Of course, he hadn't. _They_ hadn't. Whatever Hangfire had been planning at the Colophon Clinic, they had shut him down. Sure they hadn't caught the man himself, but as far as Moxie was concerned, that would happen too, in time.

"What's eating you, Snicket?" Moxie asked, sitting down across from him at his usual table at the library.

He sighed again, his chin rested on folded arms rested on his usual table at the library. "It's nothing. I just don't feel well."

With his head lowered like that, it was impossible to see his eyes past the protection of his hat. He liked that it kept his eyes concealed, when he was feeling down like this or when he was feeling secretive or private. Moxie disliked it for just that same reason.

"Now you and I both know that's not true," Moxie said, taking his hat by the brim and pulling it off his head. His hair was a bit messy underneath. "Tell me. What's up? What's bothering you? It's off the record, I promise."

He looked at her arm. This time, he didn't bother pretending he'd just happened to notice it. "Does it still hurt?"

"That's not what's bothering you," Moxie said instead of answering.

"No, but it's part of it," Lemony answered, and sighed again. There was a pause, and then finally, he asked, "Moxie, am I really doing anyone any good here?"

"Don't be silly, of course you are," Moxie replied. She gestured outward with her healthy arm and went on, "Just think of all the kids who aren't going to be chained up at the Colophon Clinic with those big fish tanks. And all the other people you've helped, too. I'm not really sure what you're doing, not being a detective and all, but whatever it is, you're doing a good job of it."

Lemony looked up at her and gave a little smile. It was the first one Moxie had seen on him since their big showdown at the clinic, and she was glad to see her friend in any state but the one he'd been in. Even a small smile was better than none at all, she figured.

It only stayed for a few moments, though, and then it left to go do something else and let a small frown take its place. With the frown now sitting gloomily on his face, Lemony asked Moxie another tricky question. "What about you, though? I couldn't protect you."

"Now, Snicket, you know I don't need protecting." Moxie replied, a bit haughtily, a word which here means that her hands were on her hips and her chin was tilted up. She raised one of her hands to wave Lemony's hat at him. "I fight my own battles, and I get hurt on my own, too. What matters is that you were there when I _did_ need you."

"I guess so," he sighed anyway, which frustrated Moxie.

"Now you see here, Snicket," Moxie said, with great authority. "If that doesn't help you, why don't you think about all the people you've helped one by one? You found Cleo Knight, didn't you? And you saved Dame Sally Murphy from drowning, and I heard about that kid you got out of town- the butcher's kid? And I heard about how you helped Jackie down at the garage, and the miner's daughter, too. And I'll bet there are others still! You just can't _stop_ helping people, can you, Snicket? Is that what you do for a living or are you just really big-hearted?"

Lemony looked at her in a way that was difficult to read, even for Stain'd-by-the-Sea's resident journalist. He looked like something had hurt him, but he was covering it up and pretending nothing had happened. Maybe that was why he was so upset. Maybe it didn't really have anything to do with her arm, or maybe her arm just reminded him of whatever was upsetting him. Was there someone else he hadn't been able to protect?

"It's what I do," he said, his words measured.

"How come?" Moxie asked, her eyes fixed on his face, trying to figure out what he could possibly be hiding.

Lemony met her gaze and held it. "It's what I was meant to do- ever since I was born, really."

They were silent for several long moments. Lemony's eyes were even more unfathomable than the rest of him. He was only twelve years old, only a few months younger than she was, but he looked so much older right then, and it made a chill run through her that she was completely at a loss to explain.

"Wow," Moxie said at last, her voice much quieter than she'd intended. "That's really noble, Snicket."

"I hope so," Lemony replied, lowering his gaze to the table.

When he turned his eyes away from her, Moxie suddenly felt like it was a little easier to breathe. Such intensity lurked in her friend, like nothing a twelve-year-old ever ought to be able to muster. No wonder she'd felt a chill.

Still, what _was_ that? Did it have something to do with his "unusual education"? Did it have something to do with the fact that he was all alone out here? Where did he even come from? Moxie hated thinking of all these questions when she realized she didn't have any of the answers. She didn't want to think that perhaps she didn't really know him as well as she'd thought.

"Well, you can't be everywhere all at once," Moxie said finally. "Focus on the people you have helped, and the people who still do need your help. You'll see, you do plenty of good around here. Stain'd-by-the-Sea is lucky to have you here, Snicket."

The small smile came back, lifting the corners of Lemony's mouth just a little. His eyes were still just as unreadable, but at least they looked less cloudy and doubtful than they had a moment ago. "Thank you, Moxie. Stain'd-by-the-Sea is very lucky to have you, too."

She smiled back at him, all bright and cheerful, but there was doubt in Moxie's heart that she tried hard to cover up. She playfully brought his hat back down onto his head, just forcefully enough to pull it over his eyes.

Lemony laughed quietly and pulled it back off, taking a moment to smooth his hair back with his hand before he put the hat on once more and arranged it delicately. Moxie could tell that there was still something amiss with him, but she didn't address it.

It wasn't that she didn't trust him; she did, implicitly. But she knew that he was keeping secrets, and she realized now that she didn't know him nearly as well as she'd thought she did. Everything before his time in Stain'd-by-the-Sea was a complete blank to her, as if the day he'd arrived, unknown and unannounced, unwanted by some and unprecedented overall, had been the first day Lemony Snicket had even existed.

Of course she knew he'd been born somewhere, he'd spent the first twelve years of his life somewhere and he'd gotten his education somewhere and he probably had friends and he possibly had a family somewhere. But those things were in another world, outside of Stain'd-by-the-Sea, and well away from the world that Moxie knew.

In the world that Moxie knew, he was a puzzle that nobody could solve, with no past and an unfathomable future. In a book, that might have been dazzling and romantic, but in reality, it was frustrating, and a little unsettling. Where would he go when he was done here? She couldn't bring herself to ask.

"You feel any better, Snicket?" She asked instead.

"For now," Lemony answered simply, rising from his chair.

He began to gather up his books to return them to their shelves, and Moxie came over to help him. He gave her a look as she winced, but his concern only made her want to succeed more. She pointedly gathered up more of the books than he had, holding them in both her arms.

"Moxie, are you sure you should get all those?" Lemony asked concernedly. "I don't mind carrying them."

"I've got it," Moxie said, fighting back the pain. "I'm not an invalid, you know. I can't let my arm get weak from disuse."

He didn't protest further, but he bit his lip as if he were trying to keep himself from arguing. They put away the books and met up again at the library's front doors. There they stood for a moment, looking at one another with uncertainty.

"It's fine," Moxie said. "It's healing right up, and soon there will only be a scar left. You worry too much, you know?"

Lemony sighed. "I know, but sometimes I can't help it. It's my fault that happened."

"I told you, I fight my own battles. She was just good with the knife, that's all. It's not gonna heal any faster if you keep fretting over it." Moxie opened one of the doors and stepped outside. She turned to see Lemony doing the same on the other side, emerging next to her.

"I suppose not," he said, looking distractedly out over the crispy, brown lawn. The sun was setting, and all the world was dyed a mild orange. "It's a nice sunset, isn't it?"

Moxie glanced at him incredulously, then looked out over the lawn as well. "Yeah," she said, "it really is."

They stood and watched it for a few moments, and then, thoughtfully, Moxie spoke up again. "Stop asking me if my arm hurts."

Lemony looked at her, a bit startled. "What?"

"You heard me, stop asking me if my arm hurts." Moxie repeated firmly. "It's bothersome. You've got other things to focus on, like Hangfire and all that." _And whatever secrets you're keeping_, she thought, and suddenly found herself fighting to push down a sick feeling that threatened to rise and turn into resentment.

"Oh, okay," Lemony said, uncharacteristically softly. "Okay, I'll try not to bring it up anymore."

It was clear his mind was not on the sunset, or her arm, either. It was hard to say what he could be thinking of. Whatever had happened to make him upset, she figured. She wished she could know what it was. As a journalist, it bothered her to no end, seeing a big mystery, a story like that, and not having any of the facts. As a friend, it frustrated her terribly, realizing that she didn't know much at all about a person she cared about.

Perhaps that was what it meant to be a friend, an associate, of Lemony Snicket? Perhaps she would just have to put up with his mysteries and his secrets. The idea still left a bitter taste in her mouth. She walked down the steps and across the dead lawn, which took him out of his reverie long enough to follow after, down the street and off toward Hungry's, where they would find their other associates waiting, all their secrets open before him.


	2. When Will You Be Satisfied?

_A/N: Some spoilers for "Shouldn't You Be In School?"._

* * *

_Lemony Snicket - When Will You Be Satisfied? _

Lemony had never known what it was like to be attacked like this before. It was savage, violent and brutal. It was cruel and inhumane, and that made the hazy thought float through his addled head that maybe this was exactly why they called themselves the Inhumane Society. That was stupid, he thought. Their name was stupid. Their brutality was stupid. The fact that he'd allowed Stew Mitchum to get the drop on him was stupid.

But none of that mattered. What mattered was that he was hurt, and badly. His mouth was full of his own blood, hot and bitter, and his side hurt badly; his back was sore and so was his face and so was his arm. He knew he would have bruises to show for it. And that was just it, he was injured. They had gotten the drop on him, but it could have been so much worse. Was this part of the job? Was this what happened when you were a volunteer and you asked the wrong questions?

Maybe it was and maybe it wasn't, but Lemony did not examine the idea too closely. He was hurt, and he had never known what it was like to be hurt like this before. He carried himself slowly, wearily to the one place he knew he'd be safe, a part of him secretly afraid that Hangfire would change his mind and let Stew come after him to finish the job. He'd put on a very brave face back there, but he had been terrified inside.

It wasn't the fact that Hangfire had said they were measuring him for a coffin, although that was an eerie thing to hear. It was knowing just how very easy it would have been for Stew to kill him, if Hangfire had decided to let him. It was seeing that viciousness, bloodlust burning in the larger boy's dark eyes, and realizing just how much he wanted to do it. Nothing could have been more horrifying than that absolute sadism.

Hangfire's eyes hadn't looked like that when he'd tried to throw him out the window of the Colophon Clinic. Hangfire had seen Lemony as a threat, and so he sought to remove him, as coldly and as as simply as that. Stew_ wanted_ to kill him, just for the sake of doing it, of seeing how it felt to take a life, and Lemony knew he would not have been able to stop him. He had been helpless before a madman. He'd got off easy.

He pushed open the door of Hungry's and staggered inside. His friends looked up to greet him and instead blinked and gasped in horror as they saw him. He must have looked worse than he'd thought- maybe even worse than he felt. He couldn't have said. He could barely speak just then.

It's true it would have been easy for Stew to kill him, but he hadn't. Hangfire had planned all along to make the attack restrained, a warning, probably because he so enjoyed flaunting his power. After all, he had showed up in front of the Department of Education just to see if he'd be recognized. It made sense he would stop Stew just to show that he could, if he wanted. It had shaken Lemony, but not his resolve. And with his friends gathered around him, taking care of him, he felt strong again despite the terrible pain.

He couldn't let a person like Stew hurt anyone else. He couldn't let that happen to one of the people with him now, taking care of him, tending his injuries and giving him food. That was why he had to press on. No matter what that villain had intended, the important truth was that he was alive now, and still able to do something about all the dark and sinister things happening in Stain'd-by-the-Sea. That was how he could tell Hangfire he wouldn't quit, right to the mask where his face should be, and mean it.

Lemony knew that not quitting meant that next time, Hangfire would not stop Stew from doing exactly what he wanted. He didn't say that to his friends, though. That was his part of the fragmentary plan; there were some things he needed to keep to himself. He had told himself to get scared later and he meant it just as much as he'd meant it when he said he wouldn't quit. No matter how hard that was to bear all alone.


	3. Why Can't I Stop Thinking About Her?

_Moxie Mallahan &amp; Ellington Feint - Why Can't I Stop Thinking About Her? _

_._

Moxie hated her long before she ever met her. This was that _girl_, the horrible girl who stole the Bombinating Beast and lied to Snicket over and over, manipulated him and cheated him and betrayed his trust. She would not understand what possessed the boy to keep his promise when he had been treated this way. She wouldn't have, in his place. You lie to a Mallahan and you've gained an enemy, not a friend. It hurt her to watch, and it brought this fire in Moxie's chest that she understood as a hatred of injustice and of seeing her friend put through it.

Moxie met her for the first time on Offshore Island, and the journalist was half-asleep for the laudanum, but she knew, before she was even told, exactly whose acquaintance she was making. This was the _girl_, with her sharp green eyes like something predatory. This was the person who had stolen the Bombinating Beast, and would certainly betray them if she thought she'd gain from it. Moxie felt something stirring in her that she at first mistook for hatred, not for injustice but for this girl who had done so much harm, and in her sleepy state she couldn't do anything to analyze it.

The coffee helped, once it was given to her. It tasted like soil and she hated it. It reminded Moxie of Black Cat Coffee and the promise Snicket had made and all the lies he had gotten in return. And that made her bristle and burn as the stuff settled uncomfortably in her belly. Now she was awake enough to get a good look at the girl with her green eyes and black hair and disconcerting sneer. Her nail polish looked fresh. How had she snuck that past the staff?

Moxie dealt with it as best she could, pushing aside her feelings about Ellington Feint because there was work to be done, and as a journalist, she could not afford to be petulant. There was too much at stake, too many people counting on her now. But at the back of her mind, the girl's name continued to ring like a bell, and it made her feel strange. There was the same anger, but there was something else that stuck in her throat. She couldn't have said what it was.

When Snicket stumbled into Hungry's with blood dribbling from his mouth, the first person Moxie wanted to blame was Ellington. It didn't matter that she hadn't been present for the attack, or that she probably hadn't even had anything to do with it, it just seemed like the place to put her blame. When he got hurt at the library after executing the final stage of the fragmentary plan, Moxie knew that time it was Ellington to blame, too, even though she couldn't be sure she'd had anything to do with it. She hated it, hated letting him be anywhere near her. She wanted to protect him from her. Associates were supposed to protect each other from people who would do them harm.

The feeling stayed there, still stuck in her throat like a bad taste. Moxie didn't like it. She thought about that _girl_ even more often than he did now, and she hated it even more than when she'd catch him at it. But the feeling would not go away, and neither would the thoughts of _her_, that awful, awful girl. It would only grow with time. It would only intensify. It would only change itself into something insatiable that would drive Moxie to want to confront that awful girl herself, to be around her, which turned to the need to be near her as she was drawn into those green eyes and that wicked smile. And just as Snicket shook himself out of Ellington's web, Moxie would willingly put herself right into the middle of it, and she would never again want to leave it.


	4. Am I in Love?

_Lemony Snicket - Am I in Love?_

The worst thing about Stain'd-by-the-Sea was that it didn't have Beatrice in it. Perhaps that was a strange thing to complain about, but he had been thinking about it a lot. Thinking about _her_ a lot. Sometimes he even had dreams about her.

He knew that what he felt for Ellington Feint was not love. It had some of the same symptoms but you couldn't fall in love with a person like that when she lied all the time and there was someone at home who made you feel like you were flying and falling at the same time every time she said your name.

Lemony was almost thirteen, which felt very grown-up, but it wasn't, really. He knew that, too, and felt rather proud of being young, because he didn't understand adults. He didn't think they understood each other, for that matter. At his age, feelings were strange, and the attraction toward the girl who lied to him proved that. But the more he thought of Beatrice, the more he was sure that the feelings that he had for her were something much more solid.

He wanted to go and ask her what she thought, how she felt about the things that were stirring in his young heart. At his age, Lemony was just discovering what love meant, and he was becoming more and more certain that it felt like the flutter that went through his heart and settled deep in his stomach when he thought of Beatrice and that beautiful smile of hers. It felt like home.

He was almost desperate to go home, sitting by himself in a place where there used to be lots of people, a place that would stay empty until the end of time. He wanted to go and help Kit out of her predicament. He wanted to play a game with Jacques, like they always used to. He wanted to sit by Beatrice on their favorite bench and talk about how things had changed since he first met her.

He felt he had grown a lot in the past two years. That was how long it had been since he first met her, almost to the day. The day was not long before his birthday. He could still remember the exact day, because his memory was perfect- "photographic", he'd been told, which was very rare and sometimes gave him headaches- and because it was something that meant an awful lot to him. It might be a day that he would look back on in thirty years, a day that he would remind her of._ "Remember that day when we first met?"_

Lemony's cheeks flushed slightly as he realized how far ahead he was thinking. It was a marriage fantasy, of sorts, himself at forty-two, just shy of his forty-third birthday, smiling at Beatrice, his best friend who had never left his side in all that time, matching rings on their fingers gleaming in the light of a lamp in the home that they shared. He really had to be in love. He had never had that kind of thought about anyone else, not ever, not in all his nearly thirteen years.

He stood up and put his coat back on with a shaky sigh, his eyes fixed on the horizon. He needed to get back to the city, back to Kit and Jacques and back to Beatrice so he could tell her what he'd realized. The sooner he fixed this broken town and solved its riddles, the sooner he would be able to get root beer floats with her, or maybe just one float with two straws, like they did in the movies. He would be able to hold hands with her, and he was sure it would be splendid.

He walked up an empty street to get back to work, and his heart was full.


	5. What's in a Name?

_Cleo Knight &amp; Jake Hix - What's in a Name? _

Cleo Knight came from a prestigious family and she was an only child. Her parents had told her, when she was very young, that there was something about them that made it hard to make babies, although she hadn't understood at the time what that meant except that she wouldn't be getting a sibling. She knew now that it meant they'd had to work very hard just to have her. She had to make them proud. She knew what it meant to be a Knight.

Cleo was very particular about that prestigious name of hers and had decided at a very young age that if she ever got married, her spouse would have to take it on as well. Even if said spouse were a man, it wouldn't matter; if he didn't accept it, he wasn't good enough for her, simple as that.

Her parents would not have approved of the young man she found, but that didn't matter much to her. There was a certain standard she held, and it had nothing to do with money or status, both of which she had herself already. She didn't need a man that would take care of her. She needed a person who would accept her on her own terms, a man who could make her smile and feel cared for. That was where the frycook came in.

It was such a silly thing, she thought as she looked back on it, the old tale of an aristocrat and a person in the foodservice industry. Sort of romantic, but only to a person like Lemony Snicket who liked to look for the romance in things. It wasn't the story or the romance, it was the young man who smiled at her and had asked if he could call her by her first name when scarcely anybody ever thought of her as a person. She had always been Miss Knight, the name she treasured, the title everyone respected. She had never been just _Cleo_.

"Could I call you Cleo?" The frycook had asked. "Would that be alright with you?"

Cleo had smiled at him and given a half-nod. "Cleo is fine, if you don't mind me calling you Jake."

Jake had smiled at Cleo and they had had this sort of private moment, but then it was over and they'd had to go their separate ways. That was before Hangfire and the Inhumane Society and the fires. That was when she could concentrate on what was most important; saving Stain'd-by-the-Sea.

Jake had never impeded her work, never demanded her time. Actually, he helped her a lot by bringing her food, making sure she remembered to take care of herself. She wouldn't have, otherwise. She would have totally neglected herself in her scientific passion. That made him important to her.

There was only a little more she needed, though, before she could know for sure that he was the one. She was a scientist, and tests needed to be performed. So she rode with him in her Dilemma, and was pleased when he never tried to take the keys. And at last she asked him the question that meant so much to her, because that was the deal, the thing that would make or break their entire relationship.

"Jake," Cleo asked, "If we were to be married, what would we do about our surnames? I would like them to match."

Jake did not seem to understand the question. "Surnames? Like last names you mean? I don't know, I've never really thought about it."

"I want to keep my name," Cleo said, straightforward, fearlessly putting it out there. If she lost him now, she would have to accept that he was never right for her at all. "And if we were married, I would like for you to become Jake Knight, or perhaps Jake Hix-Knight. What would you think of that?"

Jake grinned at her, ear-to-ear like she'd just said the best thing he'd ever heard. "Jake Knight? Why, I'd be honored. Say, are you proposing to me?" He gave her a wink.

Cleo laughed. "Not exactly. The proposal will have to wait a while longer."

She didn't say that it was only just a hypothetical proposal, because it didn't really feel like it. Instead, she reached over and kissed his cheek. Jake Knight, is what he would be. It sounded rather regal, actually. It sounded like her ideal companion.


End file.
